


Survivor's Guilt

by jeleania



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, GoF, War is hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-12 11:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3332288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeleania/pseuds/jeleania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a graveyard, one boy died while another lived.</p><p>A Dark Lord rose, but hope was lost.</p><p>(A brief glimpse into a dark future where Britain falls.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survivor's Guilt

* * *

 

 

"Damnit!"

 

Tired eyes watched the redhead slam a fist into a convenient wall. Few had the energy to do more than twitch in surprise, everyone too exhausted. Too tired, too numb, too heart-weary.

 

They were losing.

 

_("Take it, then. You're there." "No.")_

The thump-thump-thump of fist meeting wood seemed to fill the room. Before the skin of knuckles could break to stain the wall red (too much red), a voice snapped out, "Stop that racket, Weasley. Stupid Gryffindor, you'll break something."

 

"Shut up, Malfoy."

 

The pair glowered at each other a moment, but anyone could see they weren't putting much effort into it. Just going through the motions. Wash, rinse, repeat.

 

Besides, house rivalry and blood traitors meant jack-shit nowadays.

 

The enemy didn't care if you had worn red or green, yellow or blue. Pureblood, halfblood, muggle blood - none of it mattered anymore.

 

Death came in green light either way.

 

_("You should win." "That's not how it's supposed to work.")_

The Dark Lord - none dared say his Name, not with the Taboo in place - had worked fast upon his rebirth. Shamefully, the Ministry had been little opposition. (To think he once wanted to work for them.)

 

Hell, they had folded like a house of cards against a stiff breeze.

 

The public was little better. So many were too scared to fight back. A few dementors here, some dead bodies there, and they had bowed their heads before the inevitable.

 

Even Dumbledore had fallen, struck down at his own school.

 

_("Stop being noble. Just take it, and we can get out of here.")_

Around him were the rag-tag members of the Resistance. Teens who should be in school, retired or defiant aurors, housewives and newspaper editors. Children of the enemy fought alongside those they'd called blood traitors to take down a monster.

 

A monster ravaging Britain and sinking its claws in Europe and destroying their world.

 

_("You told me about the dragons." "I had help on that too.")_

 

An opening door drew his attention, several others also glancing over. Cho stepped into the room, dark hair tied back and blood staining her hands. (She still looked beautiful.) "We've done what we can. Greengrass will limp, but she'll keep the leg. Longbottom is stable for now, he'll need to be monitored. The rest are alright and resting."

 

"And Hermione?" Ron asked.

 

Her expression was grim as she shook her head. "I'm sorry."

 

The red-haired male slammed out of the room. Sympathy was in several faces but none made to follow.

 

With a sigh, Draco scrubbed a hand through his hair as he stood. "I'll go help George with the potions. Better than sitting around here."

 

Stepping out of his way, the Asian healer said, "We need more blood replenshers and skelegrow."

 

"Malfoy." His voice was quiet but made the ex-Slytherin pause. "Thanks."

 

The blond jerked his head in a nod before taking his leave.

 

War made strange bed-fellows indeed.

 

_("Let's just take it together.")_

He'd never thought things would turn out this way. He was going to graduate, get a job at the Ministry, find a wife one day, and just live.

 

There wasn't supposed to be a life of terror and death, helpless rage and despair.

 

There wasn't supposed to be masked people cutting down first years outside the Charms classroom.

 

There wasn't supposed to be a war with him somehow seen as one of the leaders of the broken remains of rebellion.

 

_("On three, right?")_

Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold.

 

How quickly the world had crumbled after that night.

 

It should have been a Hogwarts victory, the end of a perilous tournament. A fair end because he had been stubborn, but an end nonetheless.

 

Yet it had been only the beginning of a hellish future.

 

_("Is this supposed to be part of the task?")_

He'd been so naive. Everyone had been. Hoping if they closed their eyes, the boogieman wasn't real.

 

Too bad the boogieman gained strength from their fears.

 

Now they were caught in a hopeless fight. No matter what they threw at the enemy, they lost more than they gained. The Dark Lord shrugged off even the deadliest attacks like they were nothing more than stinging hexes.

 

_("Wands out, you reckon?")_

Guilt ate at him for the innocents dead. So many were gone, so many suffered, and he couldn't do enough.

 

Staring down at his clenched hands, he couldn't help but wonder if He could have done differently.

 

Surely He would have found a way to win this.

 

He'd done it before.

 

_("Something's coming.")_

Cold fury surged in him at the thought of that rat, but it faded quickly under the weight of fatigue. Pettigrew's death wouldn't fix anything.

 

The deed was already done.

 

And you couldn't bring back the dead.

 

_("Kill the spare.")_

So much research had been done to find a way to end the Dark Lord's immortality. The bushy-haired Gryffindor had said she had found something, but their meeting place had been found before she could say her piece.

 

Maybe if they could find her notes, someone could follow her trail.

 

It wasn't much, but she'd sounded so sure. More alive and vibrant than she'd been in a long time.

 

Like she actually had hope again.

 

A hope that had been killed years ago.

 

_("Avada Kedavra!")_

A hope that she, and the world, had lost with her best friend.

 

He still saw it in his nightmares.

 

_(That horrible green light sped toward him. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Then his vision was blocked and something thumped to the ground._

_Distantly, he heard a screech of rage._

_He didn't want to look, but his eyes disobeyed him._

_Crumpled on the ground was the body of a fourth year, eyes as green as the Killing Curse gazing blindly at the night sky._

_Death had claimed the Boy-Who-Lived._

_And hope had died with him.)_

The thrice-damned cup had been shoved into his hands and he'd found himself back at Hogwarts.

 

A few days later, the Death Eaters began their terror attacks.

 

A month past, and the Ministry fell.

 

And the Dark Lord rose.

 

Cedric Diggory closed his eyes and whispered a question he'd asked himself again and again since that night.

 

Why had he lived when Harry Potter, the hero, had not?

 

Why did the curse hit the wrong person?

 

"Why  _didn't_ it happen to me?"

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> in case it wasn't clear, the conversation in italics and parentheses is quotes of Cedric and Harry's argument of who takes the cup lifted from the fourth book. well, except for the last part where I messed with canon.


End file.
